


Fangs, Bats, and Knitting Needles

by deaconsleatherpants (FlameEmber)



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (2014)
Genre: Cuddles, Knitting, Multi, feel free to request!, just some short Deacon one-shots because I'm trash for him, tags will be updated as I continue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameEmber/pseuds/deaconsleatherpants
Summary: Some short Deacon x Reader one-shots, because I'm absolute trash for him and nobody else seems to write these. Self-indulgent fluff.Please feel free to request anything you'd like to see here!1. Coat2. Scarf3. Werewolves4. Bat
Relationships: Deacon (What We Do In the Shadows)/Reader, Deacon Brucke/Reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 64





	1. Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some cuddles and a coat.

On quiet nights in the flat, it was sometimes easy to forget that you lived with four vampires. It was not so easy to forget that you were dating one of them.

You’d already poked your head in his closet door, to no avail; the kitchen, too, was devoid of knitting, dishes-avoiding vampires. 

You found him in the living room, the television set still playing in the background as Deacon slept. He was lying dramatically over the sofa, one forearm over his eyes and the fingers of the other hand trailing down onto the floor, to where the remote lay. His coat, the black one with the curve of fur across the shoulders, was haphazardly flung over the back of the sofa beside the (folded) multicolored blanket you strongly suspected Deacon had knitted himself. You fought back a smile at the sight of him as you switched off the television, and noted with some interest that there was just enough room beside him for you. 

You attempted not to wake him as you cuddled into his side, but his arm fell from his face and green eyes blinked down at you, uncomprehending. You brushed his hair tenderly out of his face, and you watched with a smirk as the vampire slowly came to his senses.

“You’re heavy,” he groused, wiggling uncomfortably under you. You rolled your eyes, pressing the side of your cheek to his shoulder and closing your eyes. But the moment you closed them you opened them again, distracted by Deacon’s seemingly endless attempts to make himself comfortable. (He vaguely reminded you of a dog making itself a “nest” before it could lie down.)

It was sometimes jarring to notice that he didn’t breathe, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the lack of a heartbeat where you should be able to feel it, thumping beneath your flattened palm; but you ignored these things, wrapping a leg comfortably around his. With a mutter and a sigh, Deacon grabbed his coat off the back of the sofa and threw it around you, the furry ruff tickling at your cheek in a way that made you giggle softly into his chest. 

“Really?” The amusement was plain in his voice, one green eye cracked open to peer down at you. “What?” you shot back, pulling his coat tighter around you and snuggling your face into the fur. Deacon just rolled his eyes, a smile tugging reluctantly on his lips as he wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“Nothing. But I have not washed that in - ever, I think.” You yelped unceremoniously and shoved playfully at Deacon’s chest, sitting up, throwing the coat back at him and making to leap away. But he caught you in his arms, laughing in that cute way that made his cheeks puff out and his eyes crinkle. 

“I am joking. Viago washed it last year.” It was your turn now to roll your eyes as you sank back down onto him, emphatically pulling his coat tightly around your body first. 

“Heh. It looks good on you.” His hand on your back distracted you from your mock irritation, and so you only mumbled “idiot” into his shirt, glad he couldn’t see your concealed grin.


	2. Scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patience was not exactly Deacon’s strongest quality, but he did his best to keep it around you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was my birthday today so hopefully you enjoy this self-indulgent fluff I wrote for myself

“ _No,_ that’s… no.”

Deacon was frowning in confusion at your first knitting attempt, the frustration clearly etched into his face - although, to be honest, you had kind of expected him to give up on this endeavor hours ago. And yet he was still there, sitting at the kitchen table with the most patience you’d ever seen in him, attempting to teach you how to knit. 

You, on the other hand, were swiftly losing your patience; this project was… _not working out,_ exactly. You furtively glanced over towards Deacon’s scarf, which was beginning to form from the mess of tangled orange yarn at a surprisingly fast rate. Your creation, however, currently consisted of little more than a few loops of blue yarn curled around your knitting needles. 

“No cheating!” he complained, giving you a look of mock affront as he moved his project to the other side of his body, away from your gaze. With a roll of your eyes and a reluctant smile, you shook your head, and focused back on what you hoped would, eventually, become a scarf. (If you were lucky.)

“Knitting isn’t a competitive sport, Deacon.” 

You could almost hear the sound of his eyes rolling, but what you **could** most definitely hear was the tiny amused snort which followed. Ignoring him in favor of the confused tangle of yarn in your hands was easy, although you still weren’t sure exactly how you were going to fix this mess you’d made. You didn’t even know where the tips of your knitting needles had gone under all that mess; you’d kind of just been mimicking the general motions of knitting for the past hour, without truly knowing what you were doing (and not particularly wanting to keep asking). As much as you loved Deacon, his competitive nature was not something you could deny, and neither was his easily sparked frustration. 

“Ugh - _no!_ Like this.” You shook your head minutely at this little exclamation. Before you could give up and toss the yarn down to the table in disgust, though, Deacon’s hands settled gently over yours, taking control of the needles. He’d held your hand many times before, but you still found yourself somewhat surprised at how tender he could be, but only with you. You could feel his presence firm against your back, and you leaned back into his chest, smirking slightly as you tilted your head up to look at him. 

There was a remarkably focused glint in his green eyes as he worked, not noticing your gaze for a moment. It was quite cute, actually, to see Deacon so focused. He finally noticed you with a deep chuckle that you could feel rumbling against your back, and looked away from the knitting long enough to kiss you softly.

“There. It’s better, see?” He moved back to his own seat with a determined twist to his lips, picking up his own scarf and leaning back to prop his dirty leather boots up on the kitchen table, crossed lazily at the ankle. You looked down at the yarn in your hands, only to see that it, while still being far from perfect, now at least looked somewhat like a scarf. This time, when you glanced back up at Deacon’s work, he didn’t try to stop you from watching his movements. From there, the task actually became far easier than it had been, and eventually, after not _too_ many more frustrated hours, you finally had a finished product that looked a little like a scarf, at least at first glance. But there were small strands of broken threads sticking out here and there, little lumps where you’d accidentally knitted over your own work, and a strange kink in the middle of the scarf that made the bottom half of it jut out at a completely different angle. Some areas also were knitted more loosely than others; the end result, while likely quite good for a first ever attempt, left you feeling somewhat disappointed.

You’d wanted to give Deacon this scarf, even knowing it could never compare to his own creations. But you loved him, and after he’d taken so much time to teach you the basics of knitting (even though it had been **his** idea in the first place, come to think of it) you wanted him to have something to wear that _you’d_ made him, all your own. 

And yet you couldn’t give this to him! It was terrible, he’d surely never wear it - and it would almost certainly be doomed to the garbage can or the darkest, dustiest corner of Deacon’s closet. You scowled down at the offending scarf with your fingers clenched in your lap, feeling frustrated tears prick at your eyes. It just wasn’t good enough, despite your best efforts. 

However, with a muttered “hey, not bad, babe,” your boyfriend scooped up the failed scarf himself; you glanced nervously up at him in disbelief. He’d never been one to hide his true feelings before, and that scarf was obviously pretty bad! But he just pulled his feet off of the table and stood, setting down the scarf he himself had made - which looked _gorgeous_ and _flawless,_ and was almost _unbelievably_ soft - around your shoulders. You nuzzled your cheek into the cushy yarn as you watched Deacon wordlessly put on your botched creation, settling it neatly into the open collar of his jacket. 

“D-Deacon… are you sure you want… ?”

Ignoring your protests he stooped and pressed a little kiss to the top of your head, with the ugly little scarf still looped around his pale neck, and tromped loudly out of the room with his boots scuffling against the dusty wooden floorboards. And as you watched him leave, you couldn’t help but smile.

And later, when you all ran into the local werewolf pack and one wolf pointed at the scarf and laughed, asking if vampires couldn’t even tell when their clothes had holes, seeing Deacon immediately surge to defend your gift **did** fill you with warmth. When you walked away you could sense he was still fuming from the encounter, but as you slid your hand into his with a gentle squeeze and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, you felt him crack a smile against your lips.


	3. Werewolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: deacon after a confrontation with the werewolves and they say something (maybe a little hurtful) and he goes to the reader for comfort? i’m all here for fluff and h/c 🥺

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is the next chapter I am sorry for being slow

The flat almost seemed like a different place when none of its resident vampires were home. (With the possible exception of Petyr, although with how silent he was, you didn’t think you’d notice much of a difference either way.) It was quiet, and peaceful for a while, with no bickering arguments over victims and dishes and Twilight. Slowly they trickled in as the night wore on - first Viago, then Vladislav a little drunk - and you were almost falling asleep, as much as you tried to stay awake.

The rattling of the doorknob suggested Deacon had returned, and you were pretty sure you knew where he’d been - you just hoped he would wipe the blood off his lips before kissing you. The door slammed ferociously behind him as he came in; instantly your drowsiness faded with the distinct feeling that something was wrong. When he appeared in the doorway to the living room, he didn’t say a word, just stood there with his shoulders slightly hunched and his thick eyebrows drawn together into a frown. There was little else you could do but smile reassuringly, as if to show him how happy you were that he was home and you could spend time with him.

His troubled trance seemed broken by your smile, and Deacon hurried towards the couch you were lying on, carefully settling himself down so that he was first bracing himself over you, then resting directly on top of you. Although slightly surprised by this, you smiled as he sighed heavily and buried his head into your chest. He was obviously seeking comfort, which you were happy to give him, slipping your fingers through his hair and closing your eyes as you silently let him relax.

He made a muffled sigh of contentment as he nestled further into your chest, seemingly seeking the warmth he could no longer create himself. Gently you continued to slide your fingers through his hair, rubbing little circles against the back of his head and neck as you felt a little of the tightly-coiled tension seep from his body. If his heart could still beat, you were sure it would be soothed by your gentle presence. It was still obvious something was wrong, but you knew Deacon would tell you if he wanted you to know. In the meantime all you could do was provide physical comfort in hopes of raising his spirits, so you just continued to run your hands through his hair in that way you knew he liked. (It always surprised you just how soft and fluffy his hair could be.)

It was a comfortable state of being, really; so much so that you weren’t quite sure how long you stayed there, curled into each other - it could have been minutes, it could just as easily have been hours. But eventually Deacon shifted to glance up at you from his comfortable position - green eyes bright with some yet unidentified emotion, and his eyebrows drawn together in a way that suggested he was trying (and failing) to hide the true extent of his hurt feelings.

“…I hate werewolves.” This was slightly muffled, spoken quietly into your chest; you paused, hand coming to rest at the nape of Deacon’s neck, and waited in silence for him to continue whatever it was he wanted to say. It took so long that you weren’t sure if he was going to continue, but at last he did, pressing his stubbled cheek flat against you. “They are - they are sons of bitches. Literally.” His offhand chuckle, still rumbling deep into your chest, made you smile as you curled the fingers of your other hand into the stiff collar of his jacket. 

“What did they do this time?” you probed, feeling his unruly hair tickle at your chin as you spoke. He was silent for a moment - his fingers idly stroking little trails up and down your sides - before you felt him sigh a puff of cold air directly against your skin, and he lifted his head in a way that looked remarkably uncomfortable.

“They made fun of my sweater!”

Which one was he wearing today? No, that didn’t matter - they were all wonderful. “Well, that was stupid of them.” You should know; you’d stolen Deacon’s knitwear enough times. Those sweaters were so soft, and they always smelled like him, even when he hadn’t worn them for a while. (He’d made you a fair number of pieces too, including a pair of gloves with little bats embroidered on the backs.)

“Yes.” Even though you couldn’t see his face, you got the distinct impression that he was pouting. Resting your chin against the top of his head, you sighed, fingers absentmindedly tucking wayward pieces of messy hair back behind his ears. You weren’t really sure what else to say, but you soon realized that he understood that - he simply wanted to hold you and be held by you, no matter who might walk in and see him so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“I’m a cool guy.” It was stated like a fact but by now, you knew him well enough to realize that he was, in fact, searching for reassurance. “The coolest,” you said with a smile, fingers resuming their gentle motion against the back of his head. You felt him snort a little laugh into your chest, as he shifted again so that his cold cheek pressed flat against your bare skin. This had the added effect of sending a shiver down your spine, which made him laugh as his grip around your waist tightened. Then you moved your attentions down to his shoulders, where you could feel the tense muscles slowly relax as you rubbed at them; he heaved a heavy yet contented sigh. 

At last, after what felt like a comfortable eternity, Deacon peeled himself from you, now kneeling above you and staring down at you with green eyes hooded slightly. He leaned down to kiss your forehead with a remarkable gentleness, although he always was so tender with you (you knew he feared hurting you, even accidentally. Especially accidentally.) As he slowly drew away you pressed your hands flat against his chest where the neckline of his sweater hung open, feeling for a moment the chilled skin and smattering of hair and metal of his necklaces, and acutely, the lack of pulse over his heart. (When would you get used to that?) He withdrew into a sitting position which you followed, pulling yourself up and watching as he leaned back into the couch, legs loosely crossed at the ankle - muddy heels pressing dirt right into the carpet. Viago would have a conniption about that if he knew.

You snuggled in against Deacon’s side, rubbing gently at his chest as you threw your thigh over his. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer to him so that your head was comfortably snuggled against his shoulder. 

“I love you, you know.” Your voice was slightly muffled by the furry hem of his jacket, which tickled at your lips when you spoke, but despite the long length of silence which followed, you knew he’d heard you. Vampire hearing was remarkably sharp like that.

“Yes. Yes, I know.” This didn’t surprise you; you knew Deacon had difficulty putting his feelings for you into words, just like you knew that he was afraid of admitting just how much you mattered to him. But he clutched you tighter, the hand that wasn’t around your waist now resting on your thigh, and there was no doubt in your mind that he loved you too. 

Feeling Deacon’s fingers trace idle patterns on the curve of your leg, just above your knee, you shifted to look up at what you could see of his face. He was staring pensively up at the ceiling, thoughts obviously a million miles away - on what, you weren’t sure, but you’d hazard a guess he was rehashing the night’s events over and over again, as he tended to do whenever he got hung up on something.

In hopes of bringing him back to the present, you slid your hand up under the hem of the sweater the werewolves had insulted (incidentally, it was the moon one) to rest flat against his bare pale skin. This did have the intended consequence of drawing his attention back to you, his frown smoothing away the moment he looked back at you. It also had the added effect of making him grin a lopsided grin down at you, the sort of grin which always made your human heart beat just a little bit faster. (You knew he could hear it, too.)

You shivered slightly at the chill that came both from his body and the night outside. You hoped Deacon wouldn’t notice this, but he always had been more observant than most people gave him credit for; he wordlessly tugged the patchwork blanket (which had so obviously been knitted, painstakingly and by hand as always) off the back of the couch. It fell in a crumpled heap over your hips and legs, although you helped to straighten it out so that it was draped (however ineffectually) across his lap too. He always looked at you a bit strangely when you treated him as though he were still human, but it was a difficult habit to shake, given your own innate humanness.

“Your sweater is great. _You’re_ great. Don’t listen to those werewolves, okay?”

“Mm. Yeah.” Almost thoughtfully he kissed the top of your head, and if you’d looked up at that moment, you would have seen how relaxed his expression was, and you would have seen the slow genuine smile that spread over his face at just how much better he felt after spending just a little time with you.


	4. Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you find a bat flying around the living room of the flat, you realize it must be Deacon's attempt to play a prank on you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little idea I had floating around! I will get back to requests shortly though. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! ❤️

The flat was conspicuously much darker than the other houses surrounding it, like a black hole swallowing up all the light in the neighborhood; tonight you could see one little light shining dimly out from behind some of Viago’s lacy curtains, but all of the other windows were uncomfortably empty. Of course, that didn’t bother _you,_ but you figured you really ought to let your vampire friends (and boyfriend) know that they stuck out like that. Best case scenario, they’d be swarmed with opportunistic burglars who thought the house’s inhabitants were on vacation - although, _that_ might solve the issue of hunting. You almost felt sorry for the hypothetical burglars.

And the front door was always unlocked. You couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t very safe, but it also made it easier for you to walk in whenever you wanted; unlike them, **you** didn’t need an invitation, you could simply put your hand on the cold brass doorknob and walk straight inside.

A single dingy light shone in the foyer, diffusing soft golden light over the peeling green of the wallpaper. Although, you didn’t see any of your vampire friends, and the house was as quiet as the grave (which, you supposed, it kind of _was_ ). “Hey, I’m here, guys!” you called out, although you got no response. Either they were all still tucked up tightly in their coffins, or they were out hunting; then again, the flat was always pretty dark and quiet unless they were in the middle of an argument, and so it was very possible they simply hadn’t paid any attention to your arrival. 

Seeing nobody, you decided to wait in the living room for someone to either come home or wake up. If Deacon wasn’t the first one awake (which he usually wasn’t), maybe you would end up watching a movie with Viago, or helping Vladislav through another breakup with The Beast. You wrinkled your nose at the idea of that, but he _was_ your friend, after all. Or maybe you could share memes with Nick. The possibilities were endless.

The second you turned the living room light on, though, a sooty little shape flitted from its position perched on the light fixture, opening its translucent leathery wings and squeaking as it flapped tight circles around the ceiling. The simple surprise of being met with another _actual living creature_ in a house full of **vampires** made you jump, your heart racing and a high-pitched yelp escaping your throat; still, you soon relaxed, your back sagging against the doorframe as you watched the little bat alight upon the curtains, a tiny blot of black against the mustardy color of the fabric. A chilly midnight breeze wafted through the open window, rustling the moth-eaten curtains gently against the sill. 

You couldn’t help but relax. This was, of course, typical Deacon. He did so like to pull little pranks, and surprise you from time to time - you could remember one time he’d hidden your towel while you were in the shower - so, you surmised, this would naturally be another one of his little games. You snorted with a roll of your eyes, lips twisting into a slightly amused scoff. 

“Very funny, Deacon.” Hand on your hip, you waited for him to flutter down from the curtain rod, transforming back to a human and floating the rest of the way to the floor - but the little bat only scuffled against the material, curling his tiny claws around one of the folds. Ignoring you, was he?

“This really isn’t that funny, you know - I already know it’s you. What are you going to do, dive-bomb my hair or something?” You hoped he wouldn’t - disentangling his sharp claws really wouldn’t be fun. Moving to stand directly in front of the curtain you looked up at the bat; he looked back at you with liquid brown eyes, and you paused as you wondered why his eyes weren’t just as brilliantly green in bat form as they were in human form. You’d never noticed that before.

“I missed you, you know.” Ignoring the oddities of vampire-to-bat transfiguration, you reached your hand up to bat-Deacon. With a little sniff, he stepped first one folded wing-hand out onto your palm, then the other. His claws prickled at your skin as he shuffled around in your hand. They weren’t sharp enough to break the skin, although the sensation wasn’t exactly what you could call comfortable. You hadn’t actually ever held him this way before, and it was quite weird if you thought about it too much, so you tried not to. Holding him close to your chest, you walked over to Deacon’s favorite armchair, flopping down and settling into it in a way that showed _just_ how much his influence had rubbed off on you.

The little creature seemed to relax at your touch as you moved him away from your bosom, and he sat there on your hand, clicking his teeth at you almost as if he were laughing. “You’re very cute like this, Deacon.” With a roll of your eyes you stroked his fluffy head with the tip of one finger, smiling despite yourself at how he chirped happily and pressed his skull against you. “And you’re very soft, and fluffy…” You moved to scratch under his chin, continuing to smile at how he contentedly closed his (still very brown) eyes at the contact.

“You know, I wish you’d react more like this when I run my hands through your hair as a human… you shouldn’t be afraid of being cute. You’re the cutest man in the world to me. The sexiest too, yes, but also the cutest!” As you teased, you smiled once more, leaning back into the firm (but comfortable) armchair and letting the bat settle against your chest. “And the cutest bat…” You didn’t know why he hadn’t turned back into a human yet, but maybe he just liked being coddled like this, and didn’t want to admit it. You wiggled comfortably against the chair, still with the bat resting in your palm, and closed your eyes. The sound of footsteps on the stairs made you open them as quickly as you’d closed them, though; you turned your head towards the door, trying to guess whether you would see the appearance of Viago, Vladislav, or even Nick.

“Hey babe, did you miss me?”

Deacon, however, would have been your last guess, considering how - you **THOUGHT** \- he was resting comfortably in your hand. But there he was, palm braced against the doorway and his dark hair tousled, and all you could do was gape. He stared down at you, sprawled across his favorite chair with one thigh dangling off the armrest just the way he liked to do, and holding a wild brown bat in your hand. Almost comically, you locked eyes with him, his bright green eyes clouding with confusion and then amusement as his gaze flicked from you, to the bat you were cupping in your palms, then back to you.

You broke the eye contact to stare wildly down at the mysterious bat instead, which had begun to chatter quietly up at you. Thankfully, it flew off without biting you, although it didn’t hold back an indignant little squeak (whether it was protesting being taken from the curtain, or the fact you’d stopped petting it, you weren’t sure) as it soared out the open window at last. You kept looking down at your empty hands for a moment before you glanced back towards the very _human-shaped_ Deacon, who was smirking in a way that suggested he was starting to piece together what had happened here.

“I - I thought you’d turned into a bat to try and scare me,” you muttered as a way to try to explain, staring at a particularly interesting little whorl in the floorboards and feeling both your cheeks and the tips of your ears burn red in embarrassment. (You knew how much he loved seeing you blush, feeling the warmth on your skin, but this time you wanted to sink straight through the floor in shame.)

“I can if you want, yeah?” His grin stretched from ear to ear when you looked back up, one of his eyebrows raised high - as if to say that he’d love nothing more than to be snuggled up against the warmth of your chest in bat form. You flushed brighter (if that was possible), wiping your hands off on your pants before swinging your leg off the arm of the chair and standing up. Wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him to you, you pressed your face into the side of his neck, where surely the coolness of his skin would quell the bright pink warmness of your cheeks.

“No. Just be yourself.” You were almost pouting, but you were still a bit embarrassed, and you were hoping he hadn’t heard the things you’d said to that bat while thinking it was him. (Nevermind that they were all true.) If he had, he didn’t say anything; he only grinned a sharp-toothed, fangy grin, kissing the top of your head and giving you a tight squeeze.

“Okay. Being the coolest vampire in all of New Zealand? That is easy.”

It really was, for Deacon.


End file.
